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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444141">A Precarious Reunion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_made_of_memoriies/pseuds/i_am_made_of_memoriies'>i_am_made_of_memoriies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, Fluff, Jonathan Sims needs a goddamn nap, M/M, and martin deserves the world, college Reunion, spoilers to the end of season 1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:08:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22444141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_made_of_memoriies/pseuds/i_am_made_of_memoriies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Sims receives an unwanted email regarding a college reunion.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Precarious Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Upon reading the subject of the unread message at the top of his inbox, Jon slammed his head onto his desk, sending precariously stacked books and sheets of paper crashing and fluttering to the floor. Hearing the sound, Martin hurried to the doorway peeking in through the barely opened door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jon!” he exclaimed, stepping into the room. “Is everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noting how Jon did not stir or move to pick up the strewn papers, Martin’s eyes grew in horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t pass out at your desk, did you?” He hurried to clean up the floor. “I’m always telling you to get more sleep! You can’t just survive on cups of tea, you know. Work is important, but so is a good night’s rest–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, thank you for the lecture, Martin,” Jon finally said, picking his head up from the desk. “No need to be my mother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d never–” Martin’s cheeks flushed as he crossed his arms. “I’m just worried about you. That’s all. What happened anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I received an…unwanted email.” Jon gestured vaguely to his computer screen. “I was invited to a college reunion and with everything that’s happened–Jane Prentiss’ attack and literally anything to do with these damn statements–I don’t know how to face people I saw nearly a decade ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin nodded in thought, bending down to help Jon clean up. Sun shone into Jon’s office through a wide, open window, illuminating the intricate pattern of Martin’s fair isle sweater–a gift from his aunt. Suddenly, his face lit up, a grin overtaking his features. Though he desperately wanted to get over his infatuation for Jon, as Jon was quite oblivious and obviously in no desire of a relationship, Martin couldn’t stop himself from jumping on an opportunity to spend one-on-one time with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come with you, Jon!” he said, placing a book back on the shelf. “If I’m there, I can verify anything you make up about your life or whatever. Plus, it’ll be easier to face all those people with a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon opened his mouth to argue but closed it, exhaling slowly. His eyes closed, he nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go with someone,” he admitted. “It’s on Friday at five. Are you free?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Martin offered a final smile before turning to exit. Before he could cross the threshold, he turned back to Jon, his face as stern as he could manage. “You should go home! It’s already six and I know you got here twelve hours ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon waved his hand in dismissal and turned back to the pile of statements on his desk. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Martin knocked softly on Jon’s door at four o’clock sharp, waiting patiently for Jon to let him in. He had fished out his favorite sweater–the one with an intricate swirling pattern–and had paired it with a simple bomber jacket. As per usual, Martin had worried quite a lot about his outfit and general appearance in the hours leading up to the party. He was anxious by nature, but that coupled with the sizeable crush he harbored for Jon sent him into a bit of a frenzy, though he’d rather not describe his thirty minute re-organization of his closet as such.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Jon opened the door to his office, startling Martin as he did so. He looked nowhere near ready to leave for a party with people he was not hoping to embarrass himself around. His hair was disheveled (though one could consider that a personal style choice) and his sweater, despite it being knit and quite fuzzy, managed to look wrinkled. His glasses perched precariously and somewhat crookedly on his nose as he peered at Martin, brow furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you took today off?” he said curtly, adjusting his glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Martin gestured vaguely towards the outside, as if mentioning the world outside the archive might remind Jon of his non-statement oriented obligations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He narrowed his eyes in thought, finally sighing as he came to a realization. Perhaps he purposefully forgot the reunion; god, did he not want to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes,” he sighed, making his way to his desk and reorganizing some papers. “The college reunion seemed to slip my mind. Have we missed it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it starts at five,” Martin sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “We should leave soon if we want to get there on time. And are you really going while looking like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin surprised himself with his boldness. Often, he strived to please people above all else, and that meant no snide remarks, especially not with someone he liked. His freckled cheeks blushed a deep red as he coughed uncomfortably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I-I didn’t mean it like that!” he rambled, not making eye-contact with Jon. “I just meant–well you know. You’re going to meet old friends and all so I thought you might want to dress up. I was being stupid, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin finally looked to Jon, sighing when he realized that he was thoroughly absorbed in some statement lying on his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you say something?” he said, looking up from the paper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin sighed, adjusting his glasses. He couldn’t tell if he was relieved or irritated by Jon not hearing him speak. Jon himself was just so confusing! Martin considered himself fairly good at reading people, but he could never understand Jon. Maybe he was just too tired all the time, or maybe his brain moved in an obscure way, indecipherable to anyone but himself. It was evident that Jon cared for Martin somewhat, as he didn’t want him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Martin did not know if that was basic human decency or genuine fondness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing and shaking his head, he turned to Jon. “Oh, no I didn’t say anything,” he said. “Shall we leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon leaned back in his office chair, rolling his neck in circles. It cracked several times, making Martin flinch, though he made sure to keep it imperceptible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll drive us,” Jon finally sighed, shuffling his papers into a neat stack before rising from his desk. “What if someone asks me about my job? What do I say then? ‘Ah yes, it’s wonderful to see you Samantha. I work for the Magnus Institute as an archivist. No it’s not a desk job. See, I have to deal with carnivorous worms and potentially homicidal coworkers. And don’t get me started on the feeling of being watched that plagues my work day! But you know, just the daily grind’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s voice dripped with bitter sarcasm throughout his rant, pulling his long, grey overcoat on over his sweater. He turned to Martin, his eyebrow raised in judgement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go or not?” he asked, opening the door. “Because I do believe we’ll be late if we don’t actually leave now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin stared at Jon, his jaw slack in surprise. The more he thought about Jon’s outburst, though, the harder he had to try to stifle a laugh. The pure absurdity of their job hit him and he couldn’t fight his resigned grin. No one expects to go to a college reunion and hear all about the supernatural endeavors of their former classmate, nor do they expect to hear all about a job at a mysterious institute which somehow managed to be quite dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martin!” Jon snapped, gesturing to the door. “Can we go now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh yes!” Martin mumbled, shuffling out the door. “I’m sorry, I just spaced out for a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon let out a heavy breath and turned to Martin. “I’m sorry for snapping,” he admitted, his voice tight. “I know that we’re all stressed after everything that’s been happening. It wouldn’t be fair for me to expect you to be totally fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was quite…nice,” Martin hummed, his grin growing. “It’s fine, Jon. I know that you’re dealing with a lot right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded in respectful acknowledgement and closed the door behind the two of them. With a nearly imperceptible shudder, he turned back and locked the door, checking the handle after turning the key. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The community center was already bustling with Oxford graduates when Martin and Jon arrived. There were groups of people spread out among the large hall, all talking jovially with one another. Quite a few of them had others at their sides, either spouses or significant others. Jon suspected that they lived wonderfully normal lives, enjoying their jobs which they acquired with their degrees, and going home to their lovely family. None of them had to deal with mysterious tunnels under their workplace; none of them had to deal with strange connections between supernatural statements; and certainly none of them were being constantly watched at work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you–uh–do you want to go in?” Martin asked, prodding Jon’s shoulder gently. “You can introduce me to your old classmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon took in a sharp breath and nodded, pushing open a glass door. Jazz music played quietly in the background, blending in to the low din of voices. Jon led Martin through the throng of people, taking apprehensive steps. All of the faces looked familiar, and he could spot some of his old friends with whom he’d long fallen out of touch. A hand clasped his shoulder; Jon flinched in response, consciously stopping himself from slapping the hand away. He was never one for physical contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jonny Sims?” A tall woman exclaimed, scanning Jon from head to toe. Another woman stood by her side, smiling amicably. “Are you still playing the drums?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s face looked a mix of anger and mortification as he stammered indignantly, searching for words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Josephine and Monica,” Jon finally managed to mumble. “How have you been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know my wife, Monica?” Josephine asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “I had no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s body tensed even more. He wasn’t supposed to know her name. Low static filled his mind as he tried desperately to amend the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” he stuttered, waving his hands in a manner that could be considered frantic. “I overheard her name while I was walking over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Josephine seemed assuaged as she nodded and reached for Monica’s hand. “Who’s this with you?” She asked, motioning to towards Martin. “Are you two–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no!” Martin interjected, chuckling nervously. “No, we’re just coworkers. Erm, friends and coworkers. I’m Martin, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded emphatically in agreement, offering a pained smile. “S-so what have you been doing lately?” He fiddled with the hem of his sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve been settling down mostly,” she sighed, moving closer to Monica. “We got married two years ago and we’re thinking of starting a family soon. I work at a law firm in South London and Monica’s a dentist. Life’s pretty good now that we’re real adults. How about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon swallowed uncomfortably and shrugged. “I’m uh–working as an archivist right now. That’s all, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, are you sure? There’s at least got to be some workplace drama. Is Jon a good coworker, Martin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s eyes grew in surprise. “Oh yes!” he assured, his voice a touch too loud. “Jon’s wonderful. There’s really nothing happening at work. You know, archiving gets quite boring!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if your life is so boring, Jonny, how’d you get those scars?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bike accident.” Jon’s face remained perfectly stoic. “I was up in Scotland and I-I fell off my bike. The rocks were quite sharp and quite numerous.”</span>
</p><p><span>Josephine raised an eyebrow, looking from Martin to Jon, then back to Martin. Slowly, she nodded. </span><span><br/></span> <span>“So you like the outdoors?” </span></p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, quite. Hiking is a hobby of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin stifled an audible groan. Jon looked as if he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. His dark skin was ashen and tired; he did not look like an active, outdoors enthusiast at the least. Martin forced a smile, and stood next to Jon silently, verifying his statements with the occasional emphatic nod. Finally Josephine sighed and rolled her shoulders in a lazy circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it was great talking to you, Jon,” she said, wrapping his thin body in a quick hug. Jon flinched on contact again. “If you’re still playing the drums, we should jam sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded stiffly, waving to her turned back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go now, Martin,” he muttered, grabbing a finger sandwich from the display before grabbing Martin’s wrist and hurrying out the glass doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sank into the driver’s seat of his small, old car, his head barely reaching the headrest. His hands rested heavily on the steering wheel as he stared blankly at the dark road in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you used to play in a band?” Martin muttered, clearing his throat. “I used to sing in a chorus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon closed his eyes and sighed. “Let’s go get a drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi and welcome to my Magnus Archives hyper fixation! I think that Martin Blackwood deserves the world, so enjoy him spending quality time with his crush. Jonny needs a break.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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